


A Matter of Faith

by scarletmanuka



Series: A Matter of Love [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sibling Incest, Terrorism, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10747575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/pseuds/scarletmanuka
Summary: The third interlude afterA Matter of Trust. Can probably be read by itself but will make more sense if you read the series :)





	A Matter of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Possible trigger warning for those who have been involved in terror attacks.

It was a rare, quiet night in at 221B for Sherlock and John. Mycroft was away in Indonesia where a crisis involving several British nationals and a ridiculous amount of drugs had occurred (normally not something he would have to deal with but when one of those nationals was nineteenth in line to the throne of England, they tended to pull out the big guns). John’s Tinder date had cancelled last minute, but Molly had already taken Rosie for the night and was happy to keep her until morning. So it was that Sherlock found himself watching telly and just  _ hanging out _ with John. The last time they had done that was the fateful day when John had first tried to kiss his flatmate, and Sherlock couldn’t help but be a little nervous.

He needn’t have worried. John was on his best behaviour, as he had been for the past two months since his clandestine trip to Sherrinford. They’d ordered a takeaway and had sat companionably on the couch together, a respectable distance between them. It had taken an hour or so, but Sherlock had gradually relaxed and even found himself enjoying the movie John had chosen. He checked his phone regularly, hoping for a text from his brother, but given the time difference plus the urgent matter, he wasn’t surprised when he hadn’t received one. It would be almost 2am in Jakarta but having only landed less than twelve hours ago, he had no doubt that his brother would be working through the night. Feeling a sudden need to let Mycroft know he was thinking about him, he typed out a quick text and hit send, then turned his attention back to the film. 

_ I love you. Don’t work too hard - SH _

The film dragged on for another hour, moving through three fake climaxes until the real ending was revealed. Sherlock sighed in relief when it was finally over, the tedium of the drawn out ending causing his enjoyment of the film to diminish. John turned the DVD off but left the telly on one of the news channels as background noise.

“Tea?” Sherlock asked, standing and stretching to work out the ache in his back from sitting for so long.

“Cheers. I’ll just nip to the loo.”

The detective headed into the kitchen and put the kettle onto boil, then rummaged around for some clean mugs. The sink was littered with dirty ones, but he was feeling much too lazy to wash out their regular mugs. He pulled the milk from the fridge, giving it a wary sniff, unsure as to when John had last bought fresh milk. It didn’t smell too sour so he decided it would suffice, and once the kettle had come to a boil, he finished making their drinks and took them out to the sitting room.

John had finished in the bathroom and was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the television in shock. Sherlock held his mug out to him but the doctor ignored it, unable to pull his eyes away. “John,” Sherlock complained, “It’s hot.”

When his flatmate still didn't look away, he peered at the screen, trying to figure out what had distracted him so. What he saw caused him to drop the tea, both mugs falling to the ground and bouncing on the rug, spilling the contents everywhere. “Fuck,” he uttered. The screen showed scenes on the streets of Jakarta, torn apart by the blast of a bomb. Red lettering scrolled across the bottom of the screen, a list of buildings and areas that had been hit. Multiple blasts then. The names of several night clubs scrolled in front of Sherlock’s eyes, then the name of a rehab centre, and then (causing Sherlock’s heart to stop momentarily) the British Embassy.

“Isn’t Mycroft-?” John started, trailing off as the images changed, showing injured and bloody civilians stumbling around, disoriented. 

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered, sinking into his armchair. He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking as he hit dial, heart pounding in his ears as he waited for the call to connect, taking longer than usual due to the international connection. It finally began to ring. And ring. And ring.

Mycroft didn't answer, the phone switching across to his message bank. Sherlock didn't bother to leave a message, he just hit end call and then dialled again. 

The phone rang out three times, and by the third time he was starting to feel genuinely panicked. He switched tactics, dialling Anthea’s number. Usually when Mycroft was in a meeting and couldn’t answer his phone, Anthea was the best way to get hold of him. Even if she couldn’t physically answer the phone, she would text Sherlock and pass along his message. 

Her phone rang through to message bank as well. 

He sat, looking at his phone in shock, not knowing what to do next. He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see John peering at him in concern. “I can’t get hold of him,” he croaked.

“It could just be that the phone signals are overloaded, like on New Year’s when you can’t get a call through. That happens during events like these as well.”

Footage of the embassy building appeared on screen. The spiral fortress appeared to be relatively intact and for a moment, Sherlock felt himself relax. Then the reporter’s voiceover began.

_ We have reports that three explosions detonated within the embassy: one in the interior courtyard, and the other two inside the building. It appears all were placed in publicly accessed areas, and were significant charges. The British Ambassador has been unreachable, and it is unsure whether he was at the embassy at the time of the attack. The building here is fairly recent, as the embassy moved to the new, purpose built location less than a decade ago. Due to the history of attacks upon the British embassy here in Jakarta, the main focus of the building’s construction was security and so at this time we are unsure of how much damage has been caused inside the building.  _

The footage changed then to return to the devastation that had occurred in the nightlife district and Sherlock once again tried calling Mycroft’s phone. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he muttered as it rang out. He sighed and tried a different number.

“Who are you calling?” John asked, finally sitting in his own armchair.

“Mark,” Sherlock told him as he waited for the call to connect.

“I thought he was MI5, not MI6?”

“He is, but he’s the only other person I know who might be able to get me some information.”

John nodded and didn't say anything else. He had accepted that Mark was Sherlock’s friend but he wasn’t overly fond of the agent. It still irked him that the brother’s had resorted to such a ruse to trick him, even though he admitted that they had reason enough to believe he would not react well. 

“Sher,” Mark answered, his voice tense. 

“I can’t get hold of Mycie,” he said without preamble.

“Neither can we,” he admitted. Sherlock heard the background noise drop away and realised that the agent must have moved out of the room he was in. “It’s all hands on deck here and since I was here when we got the word, I’ve been helping since the start. We can’t get a hold of any of our people there, even using our secure lines.”

Sherlock swallowed heavily. “You don’t think…”

“I don’t know, Sher, and I’m not going to speculate until I have the facts. I’d advise you to do the same. There’s no point in panicking until we know what’s going on.”

His eyes closed and he tried to see the worth in Mark’s words but images of Mycroft, bloody and cold, laying amongst the debris flashed through his mind. He choked back a sob, feeling black despair start to wash over him.

“Sher, listen to me! Sherlock!”

“What?” he choked out.

“I swear, as soon as I know anything, you will know it, okay. Please, don’t jump to the worst conclusions, please?”

He nodded, forgetting Mark couldn’t see. 

“Look, I have to go, but I’ll call you soon, okay.”

“Thank you.” He disconnected and looked up to find John looking at him for news. “Mark was at the office when they got the word so he’s been working with them. They’ve not been able to reach anyone either, but he said he’ll let me know as soon as he hears anything.”

The blonde nodded. “Right, well, that’s good then. I’m going to make us another cuppa.”

He got up and put the kettle on to reboil and then came into the sitting room, armed with paper towel and began mopping up the mess from the spilled tea. Sherlock sat in his chair and fought desperately to find the normal part of his brain that could look at everything logically and analyse it in a detached manner. It had served him well in the past when he was working cases, dealing with madmen such as Moriarty, or even when he or John were in trouble. It seemed to have disappeared though when it was Mycroft who was in danger. His entire logical brain shut down and he was reduced to a quivering mess. He tried to quieten his mind, and concentrated instead on Mycroft himself. How strong and capable he was, how much he loved Sherlock, how much he would do anything to get back to him. Slowly his panic subsided, his breathing returning to normal. Mycroft. This was Mycroft and he wouldn’t let something as small as a few bombs stop him from coming home. He had promised he would always be there for Sherlock and his big brother didn’t break his promises.

The night progressed and neither Sherlock nor John moved from the sitting room. Several channels were showing constant coverage of the crisis and the updates the public received were much the same as the ones that Sherlock received from Mark. Information out of the area was sketchy at best, but little by little it was pieced together.

_ Reports of a device that failed to detonate have been received. The device was discovered outside of the cells at the station that is holding several British nationals accused of trafficking over a kilo of heroin into the country. The other attacks tonight on the British embassy, a rehabilitation centre, and several nightclubs locally known for their lax stance on drug taking appear to indicate that the arrest of the nationals was the catalyst for the attacks. So far, no group has come forward to claim responsibility. _

_ A video clip has appeared on social media sites claiming to be from inside the British Embassy. The short clip shows several people fleeing from the building, and severe structural damage to the inside. The video was first posted on a Twitter account known to belong to a clerk within the Embassy, giving credulity to the authenticity of the video. Rescue workers entered the Embassy some time ago but there is no update as to the status of the Ambassador, nor is it known how many people were killed during the explosions. Unverified reports of bodies being removed from the Embassy have been received but there has been no official word from the British Government. _

_ A local extremist group has claimed responsibility for the multi pronged attacks across Jakarta this evening, including that against the British Embassy. The statement, which was received via email to several news corporation's stated ‘We will no longer tolerate the corruption of our youth by foreign visitors. We will wage our own war on drugs and this is the first strike. If the Western World continues to bring illicit substances into our country to tempt our young people with their evils, then we will be forced to retaliate. There will be no negotiation.’  _

_ Breaking news from Jakarta. It has been revealed that one of the British Nationals being held for alleged drug possession is a member of the Royal Family. There has been no official statement released by the palace at this time but our own sources within claim that a high ranking government official was sent to the region earlier today to negotiate with the Indonesian government. It is unknown at this time who this official is, and if they were with the Ambassador during the attack.  _

At the mention, however vague, of his brother, Sherlock clamped his hand over his mouth, choking back a sob. The fear, and stress from the unknown were too much for him however and another sob followed. Tears began to stream down his face and he pulled his knees up to his chest as he began to cry in earnest. John rose from his chair and came and perched on the edge of Sherlock’s armchair, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Shhh, it’ll be okay, Sherlock, I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

“You can’t know that,” he wailed against his knees.

“No, but maybe there’s someone up there watching over him.”

He lifted his head to stare in consternation at the doctor. “You’re trying to comfort me using religion? Why would you do that when you yourself don’t even believe,” he demanded, his tears stopping.

John shrugged, his cheeks flushing. “Perhaps it doesn’t hurt every now and then to have faith in a higher power.”

“I do have faith in a higher power,” Sherlock whispered. “Mycroft. I have faith in Mycroft. He’ll come back to me, he has to.”

John bit his lip and nodded, giving his flatmate one last pat on the back. “More tea?” he suggested.

The detective nodded, turning his eyes back to the television, but not really concentrating as the reports were simply recapping what they already knew. His mind wandered back to last night, to climbing into bed and holding Mycroft close. Neither had been up for anything more, and it had simply been enough to lie entwined together, Sherlock’s head on Mycroft’s chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat beneath his ear. This morning they had woken late and Mycroft had been in a hurry. No one but Sherlock would have picked up how harried he was, the single lock of hair out of place, the tie slightly crooked as he pocketed his phone and keys and prepared to leave. The younger man had popped a piece of toast in his hands, before pressing a kiss to his lips and smacking his arse as he’d turned to leave. Mycroft’s lips had twitched into a smile, and he’d given Sherlock a fond look before disappearing out the front door.

What if that was the last time he would ever see his brother? The last smile, the last kiss, the last time he’d whispered his love into his ear. He swallowed thickly, pushing such thoughts to the side. Mycroft would come back to him. He knew he would.

The night dragged on, the clock ticking past midnight to signal a new day. Sherlock’s phone rang in his hand and he quickly answered it. “Mark. Any news?”

“The Ambassador has been found in the building. It appears the bomb detonated immediately below the room he was in and the floor collapsed. He’s unconscious so they’ve not been able to question him on who was in the room with him, but -”

“But it was likely Mycroft and Anthea were with him.”

“Exactly. We have the rescue workers concentrating their efforts on that area. I’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”

He hung up and relayed the information to John, trying to remain calm. The not knowing was driving him crazy and he wondered if this was what it was like for regular people every day who couldn’t observe the things right in front of them. He felt breathless almost constantly, like he’d taken a hit to his guts and his solar plexus was spasming from it. Nervous energy thrummed through him and he felt restless, but could do nothing but sit and watch the reports. He refused to think about the likelihood of surviving a partial collapse of a building, not wanting to think about the statistics. Instead he watched as several reporters speculated on which member of the Royal Family had been caught up in the debacle. 

His phone rang again, and he went to answer, expecting it to be Mark. It was an unknown number and the display indicated it was a video call. His stomach flipped as he hit accept and the whole world seemed to come to a stop as he took in the slightly pixelated face of his brother. “Mycie,” he gasped, a hand flying up to cover his mouth.

Mycroft was covered in dust, and there were streaks of blood down his face. His hair was a mess, and he winced as someone behind him pressed gauze to the back of his head. “Sherlock,” he replied, waving away the medic. 

A thousand questions flew through his mind but he settled on the most important. “Are you okay?”

His brother nodded. “No major injuries. They’re insisting I go to a hospital but I needed to talk to you first. My phone is still in there somewhere but one of the emergency service workers was kind enough to lend me his. I knew you’d want to actually see me to know I was alive.”

Sherlock nodded, his brother knew him so well and he was grateful for the assurance. He couldn’t think of anything else to say - his brain felt numb as relief flooded through him. Eventually he found the ability to ask, “Anthea?”

“She’s already been taken to hospital,” he replied. “Her leg was trapped by a beam and so her injuries are greater than mine. I believe she’ll make a full recovery.” There was the sound of someone speaking to Mycroft and he looked away from the camera, then nodded. “Sherlock, I have to go. I’ll call you as soon as I can but it might take awhile to get sorted amidst all this insanity.”

“I understand. Just please be safe.”

The fond smile was back and Sherlock’s heart soared to see it. “I will. Try and get some rest yourself.”

He nodded, his throat thick. “I will. I love you, Mycie.”

“I love you too, Sherlock. I’ll talk soon. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The video call terminated and the screen went blank, and Sherlock sat for a long time just looking at it. Then there were fingers prying it from his grip and a hand at his elbow, helping him up. “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” John said. “I think you might be going into shock and you need to rest.”

He nodded numbly and allowed himself to be led into his room and undressed. John tucked the blankets around his chin, then shon a penlight in his eyes, making him wince and look away. “I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight so I’ll be close by if you need me. Call if you need anything.”

He nodded again, and then the light was turned out and darkness surrounded him. Sherlock shifted onto his side and hugged the spare pillow to his chest, inhaling deeply and catching the lingering scent of Mycroft’s aftershave. Mycroft was alive. He was relatively uninjured. He would soon be home. Taking comfort in these facts, Sherlock closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him.

  
  



End file.
